A Faustian Bargain
by Eric T Cartman
Summary: After the events of the masquerade, defamed princess Morgana of Albion has struck a deal with Albion's own devil. He will deliver gold, support, and even the very kingdom to her feet. However, the devil isn't known for his generosity, and everything comes with a price. (Experimentation on my part. Don't bother if you're sensitive. Abuse, dub-con, all that.)
1. A Deal with the Devil

_**AN: Yo folks, so I know I haven't finished my last story, and just know that hopefully I will work on it, but this is more of a fresh start. I wanted to work on some areas of writing that make me uncomfortable to help expand and grow as a writer, so this is my attempt at that. I haven't really decided if there will be a happy ending here, or exactly what is going to happen.**_

 **This story is darker than my others, and can be considered dark!Reaver. Even though Reaver is already a dark character within himself, there's many things that Lionhead leaves to the imagination, and I intend to expand on it here. I guess you could consider him more true to his dark nature and selfish desires than in my other stories.**

A Faustian Bargain

Chapter One: A deal with the devil

"Well, I must say, you've made me out to be a somewhat poor host." Reaver cocked his head to the side, tutting facetiously. He placed a slick, gloved hand dramatically on his waist, the other wrapped tightly around his gaudy, golden cane, tapping it lightly on the ground for emphasis. "Rather rude of you to dispose of all my guests."

Righteous anger seethed from Page as she raised her gun, aiming down the sites onto the man above her. "Now it's your turn, Reaver."

Without hesitation, she pulled down on the trigger, sending a bullet rocketing towards the masked mogul's forehead. A small smile began forming on her face, yet before she could so much as exhale, Reaver unflinchingly raised his cane in defense,sending the discarded bullet falling to the ground before her with a soft clink. She gawked at the small metal shell at her feet, and then back up to Reaver, mouth agape in disbelief. He gave her a biting look, entertained at her blatantly expressed confusion.

"Oh, my dear girl, why not stop all this bickering? The three of us could go up to my quarters and have a private party." The sinister shadows that danced beneath Reaver's mask darkened underneath his flirtatious bravado, his head no doubt swimming with images of all the degrading things he would do to the rebel leader given the slightest of chances.

Page recoiled, her lip snarling in disgust. "Do you have any idea who this is? It's Logan's sister." She motioned her hand towards the mask clad woman next to her. "The Princess."

'Princess' Morgana shot her a scornful look, feeling slightly irritated, as Page had only used the subject of her royal being to deflect Reaver's advances, instead diverting his attention to her. Honestly, she had hoped to bypass Reaver's scrutinizing gaze and even more so, avoid having her identity revealed, but Page was not one for subtlety when she felt she had an advantage. Blowing the air out of her mouth as an act of annoyance, Morgana stepped forward slightly and flickered her eyes upward toward Reaver through the eyeholes of her fox mask, wordlessly confirming the statement. His golden eyes studied her carefully, curiosity piquing and glimmering with stimulus.

"The king's sister, a bona fide hero…" Reaver paused for a moment, tracing a leather finger across his chin before giving a slight shrug. "Well, I wouldn't dream of coming between siblings. Well, that's not strictly true… There was that one time… Anyway, best of luck to this whole 'revolution' lark. Perhaps we'll meet again one day. Tatty-bye!" He turned on his heel, waving his hand lazily behind his back as he stepped through the doorway without a second glance.

"Hey! Come back!" Page barked, shooting off another round, blind with the rage of not only failing, but of being dismissed so casually after doing so. The bullet graced the top of Reaver's large stovepipe hat, but he simply ignored it, the echo of his boots scuffing the floor drifting further and further away. Her ebony skin turned a dark shade of red in the cheeks as she gritted her teeth violently behind her clenched jaw, glowering at the empty space where Reaver once stood.

Morgana closed her eyes and began biting the inside of her lip, thinking intently. Reaver was going to walk out of this mansion and never return. Avo only knows where he would end up. He could leave Albion, or worse, he could choose to stay and sabotage their plans, easily squashing any hope they had. He was not only a close advisor of King Logan, but also the richest man in recent memory. All it would take is one word and a big bag of gold and they wouldn't even be history, they'd be ashes in mountain of dust. The only reason he had ignored them thus far is because their revolution was of no threat to him or his interests as it stood, but a personal assassination attempt might change that by invoking not only his attention, but his anger.

As much as she hated to admit it, the revolution was dying, alongside the people it began to protect. Common citizens feared execution or that of their loved ones, thus they were either too afraid to help or in hiding. The dwellers had pledged their allegiance, but Brightwall's assistance could only take them so far. Brightwall was home to fine people, but they were neither wealthy nor warriors. The soldiers of Mourningwood were warriors, but they were already on Logan's radar due to being Swift's men and unable to do much without summoning the elite army, and frankly they were underfunded as well.

Even Page's rebels had been severely lacking in strength after their caravans had been pillaged by bandits or captured by Logan's elite. They had been mercilessly slaughtered with their cargo burned or captured as a message. The couriers had been hung publicly, so communication between factions was next to nonexistent. The entire rebellion was scattered and only inches from death, and although Page would never admit it, they needed help. It wasn't an option any longer, it was a requirement. Their last ditch resurrection effort was to eliminate Logan's financial backing, support, and pocket via the liberation the industrial district by ridding the world of Reaver, but he had known they'd come, and he'd even made a game of it to add insult to injury.

Both Logan and Reaver had what remained of the dying dream that was hope in their grasp, and all it would take was one swift movement to send them all spiraling to hell together. The only advantage they had now was the relative secrecy of their hideout, but even that could be compromised at any moment. She couldn't save them on her own. She may be a princess and a hero, but she was only one person.

Pressure built behind her eyes and temples, pounding in her head. Her teeth clamped down harder on the underside of her lip, a slight metallic taste leaking from inside. Reaver couldn't escape, he couldn't just leave and disappear. He could end them, crush them, and even erase their memory with a snap of his fingers. Even if he remained apathetic and left the situation alone, the resistance was in its final stage of death rattles. But what would stop him from getting the pleasure of demolishing them anyway? From what she knew of him, he was a sadistic madman who took pleasure in watching things struggle as they died at his hand. What better enjoyment than that of crushing the hope of millions of people all at once?

 _Sometimes you had to give to get, right?_

"Wait! Reaver! I have a proposition for you." The words left her lips without warning, and even she seemed slightly taken back by them.

Silence.

The air seemed to hold its breath in anticipation as she waited. Every muscle in her body clenched and stiffened, praying that he both would and wouldn't return simultaneously. The room seemed empty and devoid of sound, so quiet that she could practically hear her heart beat in her stomach. Page turned to her, eyebrow raised and skeptical.

"What are you doing? We need to get Kidd and leave, sooner rather than later." Page fussed, searching for a device or lever to release Kidd, her right hand man who was trapped in a cage suspended above the room. Morgana paid her no mind, only raising her hand up in Page's direction as if to quiet her down.

"Reaver! I implore you to return and hear me out!" She commanded, trying her best to drown out the dread that flooded her body as she realized she was willingly beckoning the man. A hearty sigh left her lungs, letting her last speck of pride flow out with it. "Please?"

The room sat completely silent and tense for several moments. Page tapped her fingers restlessly on her arm, no doubt irate and scowling at the princess. She disliked being 'out of the loop', and disliked following blindly even more. The princess had only just gained her trust, and now had the audacity to give her orders? What made her think Reaver was a fool enough to return after easily escaping? After several moments, Page let out an exasperated huff and finally spoke.

"Look, I don't know what exactly you're trying to do, but we need to focus o-" Her sentence was stopped short when a pair of heavy boot prints could be heard echoing slowly, but surely across the floor above and back towards the misfortune floor room. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me." Her hands scrambled back down into her gun holster, frantically attempting to reload her gun. "I won't miss this time."

But before she could so much as get a single bullet in the gun, Morgana smacked the gun out of her hands, and Page watched as it helplessly skittered across the marble floor with a nasty clang. She slowly turned her head towards the princess, expressing her betrayal. Resentment flashed dangerously in her eyes, Morgana felt if looks alone could enkindle people, Page would've ignited her into a bonfire by now. None the less, she refused to meet Page's venomous glare, and instead kept her eyes averted towards the double doors above them. She wouldn't watch Page foolishly strangle the life out of their last hope by attempting to hit a man she knew could never be hit.

The doorknob squeaked as the heavy wooden doors swung open, and she felt her heart skip a beat. Part of her thanked the gods, but the other part was terrified and wished with all her might that she had been born a peasant in Brightwood instead.

"I must insist that it is rather scandalous for the female company to keep their host up past his hours." Reaver slowly came into view above them, a smug smile carved into his face. "However, I do believe I can make a, shall we say, exception for you two lovely ladies." He stopped just short of the rails, placing his cane in front of him and lazily resting his hands atop it. "Now, why is it exactly that you were in here _begging_ for me? Normally I wouldn't mind, however I doubt that this particular beg is in any way beneficiary to me, unlike most I hear at this hour." Arrogance dripped from his voice as he mused to himself.

He must have sensed the tension in the room, as his eyes studied the princess momentarily, before moving to the gun that lay abandoned on the floor and then flickered his eyes over to a very angry Page. "Oh, now _this_ is going to be good." He tittered.

Morgana swallowed her anxiety and stepped further forward, looking upward towards him. "I have a proposition of sorts for you." Her words came out much stronger and braver than she felt.

Reaver dismissively waved his hand in the air. "Yes, yes, I've heard all this. Now get to the interesting bits. I do find myself growing bored, and I do so hate to be bored." He threatened. He was not a man to be kept waiting, she realized, so there was no point in playing formalities or beating around the bush.

"Help us." It came out a little more like a plead than she would have liked, so she adjusted her tone, attempting to sound confident and resolved. "Help _me_ take the throne from Logan. You have the money and the resources, you could easily help us take Albion from Logan."

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" Page whispered angrily through her teeth, though to no response except a silencing side eye by the princess and a slight chortle from Reaver.

"While I do so love groveling, especially from royalty, I see no reason to do so. After all, your 'rebellion' is failing, your people near death, and the cause mere seconds away from total abandonment. Not to mention your poorly executed attempt on my life. What could you possibly have to offer me that made it worth my while to align myself with you, let alone be your lifeline." He sighed, nonchalantly brushing a small speck of dust off of his immaculate jacket.

"I will be queen." Morgana stepped toward his position again. "Though I am not now, with your help, I will be in a position to offer you everything."

Page's eyes widened and she looked over at the princess as if she had gone completely mad. Reaver noticed this as well and gave a triumphant, gloating smirk in her direction. Morgana knew what she was saying was not only dangerous, but utterly compromising. Not a single one of her allies would support this, and Reaver knew this and very well would take advantage of it, but they had no other choice.

"Though under no circumstances will I break any of my previously made promises, mind you." She stated firmly, a hopeless effort to calm Page's burning nerves to no avail. "But I ask of you to consider this. We can negotiate terms that are to all of our satisfaction. This can be beneficial to all of us, even you."

Reaver took several moments before speaking, putting dramatic emphasis on his 'thinking' face while he spoke. "Well now, this certainly is a surprise. Humbling yourself before me, all for the sake of Albion and its rabble, even to the surprise and, dare I say, ire of your companion." He slackly leaned against the railing, peering down toward her. "Yet how can I take your word, or that of your little sewer rat who would just as soon see me dead?" He feigned hurt at the treachery.

Morgana heaved a sigh. Truth be told, she had nothing to offer, no form of collateral, at least nothing Reaver would find valuable. Everything she had was back at the castle and technically belonged to Logan and the kingdom. All she had was her word as a princess, the honor of her family, and that of her name. Reaver was a scoundrel who took little stock in things he could not price, and he would more than likely scoff at her attempt, but it was worth a try.

Slowly, she reached behind her head and untied her mask, prying it from her face while using her other hand to rip off the ostentatious and slightly ridiculous wig from her scalp. Shaking her head vigorously, she let loose her long, jet black locks from the confines of the wig cap and threw the mask to the floor. She slowly massaged the undersides of her eyes before looking back up at Reaver, who had a sickly grin growing on his face that made her feel violated and ill.

"I show you my true face as proof of my identity." She straightened her back, standing tall, despite teetering on the brink of nausea. "I am the Princess Morgana, daughter of Sparrow, the first king of Albion, sister of Logan, king of Albion, and rightful heir to the throne." She bent down on one knee, placing her hand over her heart, as she was taught to do when she was younger while giving a royal pledge, her face burning in embarrassment and humility. "I give my word, on my family name and mine that I shall honor our agreement. No harm shall come to you at my hand, or at the hand of my allies."

Reaver slowly began clapping, leaving her on her knee for a good minute. "My, my. Now I must say I was skeptical at first, but seeing your face I definitely see the family resemblance. Not as sunken and surly as Logan, but the similarities are there enough, though there is absolutely no doubt fate favored you." He brought his hand up to his chin once more, tapping his finger against his jawbone as his auspicious eyes panned deliberately over her. "Yes, I do believe I have seen you, my dear. It must have driven your poor father half mad keeping not-so-well intentioned suitors way from you after you blossomed." He drew out his sentence, his voice silken and laden with implication. "Perhaps your dear brother simply wasn't up for the task, hence the situation we are in now."

A cherry red blush crept its way onto Morgana's face, and she turned her face away from his intimate, scrutinizing gaze, feeling uncomfortable with the attention and more expressly, the man it was coming from. Page put her hand on her sword, moving into attack stance. "She is the princess of Albion, the future queen, and you dare to-" She was cut short by Reaver's theatrical voice playing up his impatience.

"Oh, very well then, princess. I'll hear your plea. I'll have one of my servants show you to my private study for negotiations." He waved a hand at Page, a scowl growing on his lips. "Unfortunately for Miss Page, it wouldn't be fair to my staff to have to clean up the filth she'd no doubt leave behind plodding around my manor, so I must ask her to take her leave. I'll have her escorted out. This won't be a problem will it?" Reaver tauntingly pointed his cane at Page through the bars of the railing.

"If you think-" Page began, but was quickly cut off once more.

"Splendid! I shall see your shortly… Princess." He bowed deeply at Morgana before exiting from whence he came, slamming the doors behind him.

Page immediately turned to confront the princess. "I sure as hell hope you know what you're doing." Her voice was half panic, half animosity. "We came here to kill him, not deliver you into his grasp." The doors at the forefront of the room swung open, and three servants entered. They scurried towards the pair, one leading Page out and the remaining two moving towards Morgana, ready to escort her to Reaver's chambers.

"I know, I know, but we don't have another option, Page. Think about it. Without Reaver either dead or on our side, we don't have a chance. We can't kill Reaver, he expected us before and he'll expect it now. We need him on our side. I won't betray you, Page, you or Albion." Morgana assured her, but disappointment and concern was still apparent on Page's face.

"He won't ask for something you're willing to give, princess. He'll make you compromise yourself, body and soul. Reaver isn't an ordinary man. I don't know what he is, or who, butI _will_ find out. I have no choice but to trust you, but don't make me…" She paused momentarily. "Make all of us, regret it." And with that, Page turned, following the young serf leading her out.

"I promise." Morgana pledged, but Page was already being led through the doors and out of her sight. She exhaled, closing her eyes and wondering what it was she had gotten herself into.

A young man with chesnut hair and wearing a red suit bearing the Reaver Industries logo on his breast bowed deeply to her, beckoning with an anxious, trembling smile. "This way, m'lady. Master Reaver wishes to begin negotiations as soon as possible. He says it's scandalous for a young princess to be seen in the Master's manor at this late hour." She nodded wordlessly, annoyed at Reaver's implications being forcefully voiced by the innocent kid. He turned towards the doorway, escorting Morgana out, with his companion following shortly behind.

' _I can handle this."_ She assured herself. _"I can do this for everyone. They're all counting on me. Walter, Jasper, Sabine, Page, everyone. All of Albion. I can do this.'_ Morgana tried to slow her pounding heart. Everything rode on this, the entire rebellion, her cause, everything. If she couldn't negotiate with a simple business man, then what kind of queen would she be for Albion?


	2. A Serpentine Offering

A Faustian Bargain

Chapter 2: A Serpentine Offering

For the first time in several hours, the calm lull of stillness blanketed the Millfields. After multiple rounds of drunken debauchery, the party had officially come to an end. The only sound to be heard was that of dozing guests, all of whom had long since passed out on floors or dark corners surrounded by a various array of mystery liquids and scattered articles of clothing. Dishes, books, and undergarments were strewn carelessly across the mansion décor, marring the beauty and charm of the classically built manor and its matching furniture.

Servants scurried through the rooms like rats, carefully and silently cleaning the debris where they could, no doubt getting an early start since they were terrified of the consequences of Reaver waking up to an unsightly home. Dark circles lined the undersides of their eyes, and every so often, a helpless sigh could be heard. Many of them rubbed the sleepiness from their eyes, yawning while they worked diligently to return the mansion to its former state of sparkling cleanliness.

Morgana felt for them, for not only having to clean up after one of Reaver's infamous parties, but also having to tend to the guests, having no doubt endured endless harassment and uncomfortable situations most of the night. They likely wanted nothing more than to curl up in a warm bed somewhere far from here, and she could relate more than most.

As royalty, she had dealt with her fair share of unsavory people. Foreign dignitaries, counts, dukes, emissaries and all manner of guests had come through the castle in her lifetime, not all of them pleasant. Some of them were even down right deplorable. However, none of them held a candle in comparison to the man she must now accommodate.

Up until these past few weeks, she didn't know much about the industrial magnate other than he was a close acquaintance of her brother, at least businesswise. She had seen him strutting about the castle during days of court and royal balls, but other than that, she hadn't entirely thought too much of him, and figured the feeling was mutual as he never seemed to acknowledge her presence. This was one of the many things that changed the day Walter led her away from her sheltered life at the castle and into the depths of depravity that was new Albion.

The first time she had truly seen Reaver, she watched him shoot down an innocent man in cold blood simply because he had spoken out against his cruel labor laws. Even worse, he had made a spectacle of it, threatening everyone else in the vicinity with a sick sense of glee. This was her first true taste of Reaver's nature. She had understood then why he had to be put down.

Things had only gotten worse from there, and she came to realize that Reaver was a greater threat than perhaps even Logan. After all, without Reaver on his side, Logan lost control of almost half of Albion's capital city, and almost all of its income. Logan was a heartless tyrant, but Reaver was a rabid dog who took no greater pleasure in life than ripping the legs and throats out from others, aside from perhaps indulging in sexual hedonism. Yet she found herself here, in a position where appeasing him was their only solution.

The notion made her shudder, remembering that she was only moments away from being face to face with the man for the first time ever, and her companions wouldn't be there to help should he find himself displeased. Under normal circumstances, the thought of an attack hardly fazed her. She was a hero after all, and had all the strength and skill that accompanied the title. However, there was something not quite right about Reaver. He was too fast, too agile, and far too skilled to be some fortunate man, albeit madman, off the streets of Albion somewhere. There was something entirely off about him, and it made her uneasy.

To say the least, she felt as though he could easily watch the life drain from her eyes, and probably get off doing it.

"Sorry for the delay, ma'am. The master didn't want you taken through any 'unsightly' quarters. Not the princess, he said." The young servant who escorted her spoke for the first time in several moments, shaking her from her thoughts. He had a slight cockney accent that made his words seem slightly uneducated and harmless.

"I'm sure those aren't exactly few and far between around here…" Morgana looked around at the rooms that lined the walls. Several had doors cracked only slightly open, which allowed her a brief glimpse inside where she saw strange devices and contraptions. She didn't allow her mind to wander as to what they might be.

"Very observant indeed!" The boy chuckled lightheartedly. "The master does sure have strange tastes, if I do say so!" Suddenly he stopped, looking worriedly over at the princess. "B-but I didn't say so." Forcing his face forward, he continued walking stiffly down the corridor.

"If you're so terrified of him, why work here where you practically can't escape him?" Her words came out rather harshly, so she softened her tone. "I mean, surely there must be other work to be done beside serving him?"

He shook his head sadly. "Times are hard now, princess. The economy is down, and jobs are hard to come by. Master Reaver seems to…" He paused, gulping slightly. "…cycle through servants often enough, so there's plenty of work to be done here. We just keep our heads down, and try to keep out of his way most days."

"Things will get better, I promise you." Morgana placed a hand reassuringly on his shoulder. "I won't allow this to continue. His treatment or others who abuse their station."

"We are hopeful here, my princess. Although…" He turned to her once more, his eyes slightly scrutinizing. "We are slightly worried now we hear a bargain is to be struck with him."

"It's scarcely been minutes." She mumbled to herself, shifting her eyes toward the floor.

"Word travels quick here, m'lady. Master Reaver is a boastful man." He exhaled in acceptance.

Morgana closed her eyes. "I should have known."

They continued silently down the winding hallways of Reaver's mansion for several moments before she spoke again.

"Does he make you call him that? Master?"

The lad's eyebrows rose in surprise at the question. "Yes, he does, ma'am. Especially the young ladies. Insists that his name is too formal for us servant folk."

Morgana huffed. She felt she should have seen that coming, and decided that questioning the boy any further would only serve to either irritate or anger her, exactly what she didn't need before meeting the man himself. Instead, she allowed him to wordlessly lead her down the corridor towards their destination. Several more moments passed before the pair spoke for the final time, arriving at a large doorway at the end of the hall.

"Here you are, princess. The Master's private study." He bowed deeply to her, motioning towards the door. "He awaits you patiently."

Morgana nodded her head in thanks. "You've been most helpful. I never did catch you name."

"It's Billy, m'lady. I live only to serve my betters." He bowed to her again before backing several feet away from the door.

She placed her hand on the large, ornate doorknob, but looked to Billy one last time before turning her hand. His eyes caught hers, and he slowly took his right hand and placed a fist over his heart, pounding it lightly against his chest, a sign of solidarity with the revolution. With that, he turned and scurried away into the dark bowels of the manor.

Morgana took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. This was it. Reaver waited on the other side of the door, and that was all she knew to expect. He could easily shoot her the second the opened it, but he could do that at any point anyway. He could refuse her every offer to spite her. He could trap her, ransoming her off to her friends knowing full well they had little to offer. She put none of this past him.

She felt like a mouse willingly walking into a serpent's den. A mouse, she reminded herself, that had no choice. Taking one last second to compose herself, opened the door, forcing herself through.

The study was large and richly decorated, smelling of polish and old book. It had dark wood flooring and matching paneled walls with paintings, many of Reaver himself, placed strategically along them. Multiple bookshelves lined the perimeter of the room with thousands of brilliantly colored books, some in languages she had never seen before, stacked along the shelves. A long crimson rug embroidered with golden thread lay in the middle of the floor, accenting the color scheme.

An expensive looking mahogany desk was placed at the far end of the room, and behind it was an extensive window overlooking a peaceful, moonlit Bower Lake. On the right side of the room sat a scarlet loveseat, and several feet in front of it, a gaudy looking fireplace complete with a roaring fire that seemed to emanate immense amounts of heat.

The study itself was chilly and dimly lit with the exception of the fireplace, which caused small, sinister shadows to expand, dancing across the floor. An intricate chandelier hung from a chain on the ceiling, but it didn't appear to be lit. Small wrought iron sconces were placed at intervals along the walls, but the candles were low, and had long since burned past their prime, many of which had already expended themselves entirely.

Morgana studied the room, thinking it would have been quite a romantic spot had it not been for the foul man to which it belonged. A man, she noticed, that wasn't present in the room. She gave an annoyed huff, tapping her finger on her arm impatiently, as if expecting him to appear from thin air.

"Over here, my dear princess." A melodic voice called from the darkness. Startled, she turned to face the direction the voice carried from. At first, she saw nothing, becoming increasingly uneasy at how well he blended with the darkness, but then an angular, pallid face appeared on the sofa by the fireplace, illuminated only by the dim light of the dancing flames. He seemed amused at her apprehension, as a perverse grin made its way across his face.

Swallowing her fear, she took several long strides towards the sofa where he sat. Refusing to sit, she instead straightened her back, standing as tall as she could muster. Turning her head towards the fireplace, she held her cold hands out towards the massive inferno.

"Cold, princess? How inconsiderate of me. Please allow me to rectify the situation." Reaver began prodding her.

She could practically hear his smirk, so she ignored his comment, instead taking the conversation in a different direction.

"I didn't take you for a reader." She stated, emotionlessly.

"Is that so?" He shifted towards her, placing his elbow on the armrest closest to her and resting his head casually in his hand. "I am, after all, an author. An autobiography, of course. It truly is a riveting read. I'd be more than happy to sign a copy for you."

She rolled her eyes, flipping her hands over to warm the back.

Content with the sound of his own voice, he continued. "I'm certain there's a great many things you don't know about me, princess." He slowly pushed himself off the sofa and languidly strutted towards her. "But as you can see, I'm hardly shy."

Morgana felt the imposing presence next to her, and felt too overwhelmed with curiosity to simply ignore it. She turned her face towards his direction, but was greeted only by the buttons on his chest. As calmly as she could, she brought her eyes upward in search of his face.

' _Oh, my hell, he is absolutely massive.'_

Her heart beat faster in her chest. He practically towered over her, nearly needing to lean down to be on her level. His stature was ridiculously intimidating, making her feel small and helpless for the first time in a long time. Shaking the thoughts from her mind, she brought her eyes to his.

He matched her stare, bringing his eyes downward to meet her own. His dark, molten eyes only made her feel more vulnerable as they felt invasive and probing, even sinister as they reflected the flames from the fireplace back towards her. He cocked his head slightly, allowing his eyelids to fall lazily down into bedroom eyes, but his look was no less powerful. His intense focus retched an involuntary shiver from her that she tried to cover by moving slightly closer to the fire.

He was indeed handsome, but disturbingly so. Almost like his face had been carved by someone who had heard the definition of perfection instead of witnessing it. His smooth, pale skin stretched flawlessly over his chiseled features with the only blemish being the small heart tattoo that rested just under his right eye. She knew that he was much older than she, but no lines or wrinkles could be seen on his immaculate skin.

His perfectly arched ebony eyebrows complimented underneath his brows and around his eyes, which had the strangest of dark hues around them, as if he purposefully blackened them to look mysterious. His raven hair was perfectly tousled and styled to the times, with or without his trademark hat. The lips that donned that infuriating smirk were particularly plump and even pouty for a male, and were a dusty color almost as light as his skin.

Most unsettling to her was his eyes. They were the most unnatural golden color, almost entirely black with little shimmering flecks of copper and aurous yellow. They made her feel exposed and weak as they bore into her, almost as if he could bend and break her without the need to use his hands. All in all, he looked as if a supremely evil being had tried to create an angel. He was predatory and dangerous, but charming and alluring enough to lull you in.

The entire situation made Morgana feel queasy. She needed to take his focus from her somehow.

"You're not wearing your hat, I noticed." She tore her eyes away from his, turning her head towards the fire once more.

"Ah yes, well, your little friend saw to make it unfit for wear by placing a bullet inside of it." Reaver frowned, furrowing his eyebrows slightly.

"Yes, I'm…. Terribly sorry about that. I'll replace it, I promise." She anxiously raised her hand to scratch the back of her head apologetically.

"Oh, absolute nonsense, my dear. A small misunderstanding, no doubt?" His smirk returned as he placed a very large hand on her shoulder, shocking her with its weight. "Pay no mind, it needed a good mending. But that's not why you're here is it, to discuss my wardrobe? Although I am always open to flattery." He took his free hand and moved it towards the sofa, gesturing her to sit.

"I think I'll stand, thank you." She said pointedly, slightly put off by his faux friendliness.

"Just as well, then." He turned from her, walking nonchalantly to the desk in the far side of the room, slowly taking off his white coat to reveal a tight, long sleeve black button up underneath his fitted vest. "You may have no intention of being comfortable, but I assure you that I most certainly do."

Placing his coat on the outside of the desk chair, he bent down to open a drawer near the bottom, bringing up a rather large bottle of scotch in his hands alongside two glasses. He promptly placed them on the desk, filling them both halfway before picking them up in his hands and walking back towards the princess, reaching his hand out to offer her one.

"No, thank you." She shook her head. "I'd prefer to keep a clear head."

"My dear, if the tiniest amount of alcohol is enough to send the queen swooning, I do worry for the future of the kingdom." Pushing his hand toward her again, she saw his eyes darken. "I insist."

Hesitantly, she reached out and took the glass from between his fingers. "I… Well, I suppose one won't hurt." Her eyes dropped to the amber liquid as she swirled it in her hands. Her brows furrowed, inspecting it for any inconsistencies. Suddenly she felt Reaver lean in, placing his lips to her ear.

"My sweet princess, do you really think if I meant to take advantage of you, that I'd need to weaken you first?" He whispered, his breath landing on her neck, causing her eyes to pop open. As quickly as he was there, he moved away, bringing his glass to his lips and swallowing it all in one turn. With a refreshed sigh, his eyes flickered back up to hers, offering her a simpering smile.

She realized it was a power play, an attempt to bully himself into a better position. Intimidating her, touching her, making her feel small and moldable in his hands. Glowering at him, she made a split second decision to match his actions, forcing down the acrid liquor at once, choking slightly when she realized the taste. With a constrained gulp, she finished the glass. She looked upwards toward Reaver, who seemed all too pleased.

"Exquisite, isn't it?" Twirling the glass in his hand, his eyes never left hers. "I can't even recall where I got it, only that it costs more than half of this room." He reached his other hand down, delicately grabbing hers and bringing it to his lips. "Only the finest for our royal guest."

The feeling of his gloves on her skin made her recoil. They were cold and slick, running along her fingers with a sickly feeling. As his mouth reached her knuckles, she could feel his warm breath between her fingers. His lips pressed gently against her, lingering for too long a moment to be appropriate as he looked down at her through thick, black lashes.

Morgana felt a painful blush creep its way into her cheeks. She wasn't sure whether it was the alcohol or the intense attention, but suddenly her stomach felt very weighted and her head clouded over. She could feel his eyes piercing into hers again and it made her feel naked, like he could see right through her.

Reaver tittered to himself, still yet to release her hand. "Surely the princess is used to such attention to detail?"

She simply stared at him, blank faced. "I don't know what you think of life in the castle, but it's not all lounging and being waited on hand and foot."

"Oh my!" He let out a hearty chuckle. "So terribly defensive." He laughed for a few more seconds before placing his glass on the end table and bringing his face so close to hers that she could feel him exhale onto her nose.

Reaver's breath smelled like whiskey and expensive tobacco, and for a moment, she swore she smelled peppermint. It took her a moment to realize what was happening, and that her every instinct was screaming at her to get away. She tried to move, but he kept coming closer, running his tongue across his lower lip. It left her feeling an awful lot like a prey about to be devoured.

He scanned her face, scrutinizing her features before bringing his gaze level with hers. He raised his other hand, taking her chin between his thumb and his forefinger, bringing her head up to meet his. She looked nervously up at him, allowing his hand to rest delicately on her face.

Reaver's own look glazed over as he hooded his eyes once more. "I must say… You have the loveliest eyes… Like the color of the sea after a storm." His gaze left hers, and for a half a second, she swore she saw a look of reminiscence. "Dark and tumultuous, but tempting all the same."

His grip became tighter, almost causing her to gasp in shock before he released her, standing himself upright again. "Absolutely nothing like your brother's eyes. His are a dull and lifeless brown. Completely uninteresting! He must've inherited your mother's eyes."

Morgana realized her mouth was slightly agape and she had yet to exhale for several seconds. Slowly shaking her head back into reality, she forced herself to speak.

"As educational this has been, I must insist we return to the matter at hand." She swallowed hard. Her entire body felt warm and liquified, like she would collapse into a puddle at any moment. The liquor made her hands and feet feel heavy and tingly, and her head felt less strained than it had only moments ago.

"Oh, very well. You're simply too much fun. The way your face turns the most stunning shade of red, it's really too adorable." He casually plopped down on the sofa, spreading his legs open before bringing one boot to rest on his knee. "Feel free to sit whenever, or wherever, you'd like." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Now, about this nasty revolution business."

"We- I'd like your help." She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the side of the fireplace.

"Yes, I'm aware. You wish for my help to secure the kingdom from under King Logan's feet, to back you financially and politically, and for my utmost cooperation." He traced a finger slowly in a circle on his leg. "But I'm a business man, dear princess. All I see are losses and gains, good investments and bad, and this is a bad investment on my part."

"Why do you say that? You already back Logan, simply switch funding to us instead. Your position in industrial is yours in your own right, Logan can't take it from you." Morgana paused, and he nodded in agreement. "Of course, I can't let the poor treatment of the workers, child labor, or deplorable conditions continue, but I can offer you more land, titles, even a place among the court should you desire it." She studied his face, looking for some semblance of assurance.

Nonetheless, he looked less than pleased, almost bored as he stood from the sofa once again, placing a hand on his hip and the other leaning against the fireplace, facing her.

"I can buy land, steal titles, and fuck my way into a place in the royal court. I asked what you can offer me." His eyes narrowed on her.

"I can give you a wing in the royal castle where you'll be welcomed whenever you'd like. Or even name a wing after you, if you so desire it." Morgana watched his face, hoping for a change, but his distasteful sneer only deepened. "I can give you treasures, gems or jewels. I can give you access to the royal caravans. I can even give you a seat of honor among the court, I assure you that even you can't fuck your way into that."

Reaver closed his eyes and sighed, tugging the side of his lip into a deep frown. "Logan can give me all of that and more. You're asking me to betray the crown, _princess._ You want me to give up my prime investment on the off chance your little rebellion pans out, which has a poor chance even with my help." He opened his eyes, his dark, wolfish pupils fixing in on her as he slowly stalked toward her. His chest began to press against hers and he maneuvered her onto the wall behind the fireplace.

"Reaver, this really isn't appropriate." Her voice trailed off as turned her head away from his, her heart pounding frantically in her ribcage.

If anyone else in Albion or any other continent were to do this to her, they would face a violent, painful end. But as much as she hated being manhandled like this, Reaver was the one man in the world she couldn't afford to anger right now, as infuriating as he was. He made her uncomfortable and several other feelings she couldn't quite place, but she could take it if it meant that he would help their cause. Aside from that, he set her on edge, like he could snap her neck between his fingertips like a twig if he desired. It was truly rare she felt genuinely threatened.

Reaver seemed to sense this, and took full advantage of the situation. He slammed his hands down on the wall next to her, forcing her face forward towards him. She tried to push her head away from his, but he only moved closer to her, leaning down to her level. "So far, you've only managed to waste my valuable time. I'm a busy man, little girl." He pulled his eyes from hers, allowing them to shift gradually downward.

He moved the hand closest to the fireplace smoothly over to her face, tracing it slowly down her cheek and further to her neck, then downward toward her collar bone, stopping just short of her breast. "So, I ask again…" His hand trailed further down, gently landing on the lace bow tied above her cleavage. He maneuvered his long, nimble fingers inside the loops, pulling just hard enough to cause the bow to fall apart, opening the top of her blouse and exposing the top part of her bust. "What can you offer me to make it worth my while? How far are you willing to go for me to save your little friends?" His voice was a low purr now, barely audible.

Morgana flushed, her entire being turning a deep shade of burgundy. She shoved his hand away, pushing her way out from beneath him. She placed her hands self-consciously across her chest, blocking any view he might have had.

"If you think that I'd offer you _myself_! That I'd ever even _consider_ the notion of submitting to you in that manner!" She snarled, balling her fists. He _dares_ treat her like this?

A sly grin played on his face. "Oh, my sweet princess, I'd never assume such a thing!" He stepped away from the wall, turning to face the fireplace again. She let out a sigh of relief, trying to breathe out the fire occupying her lungs. He began removing his gloves, revealing his large, pale hands. "After all, I'd never put a price on something I could have freely." He chuckled.

Rage flooded her, tossing her judgement to the wind. She was on him in mere seconds, her hand clenched at the cravat upon his neck. Slamming him against the wall, she felt the faint will lines begin to glow across her body. However, he remained unfazed, even giggling as he found the attack somewhat amusing.

"Is that what you thought? That you'd invite me here under the guise of helping Albion and I'd be so caught up in my gratitude that I'd lie with you right here like some sort of simpering harlot?" Her hand tightened on his silk garment.

"Oh my, no! You have it all wrong, my princess." He began laughing even harder, completely undaunted by her outburst. "Not tonight! Whatever would your companions think if they learned I was so effortless?"

She slammed him into the wall again. His head hit the panel with a nasty crack, but he never ceased his cackling. Huffing indignantly, she realized that this entire meeting was pointless. The revolution was nothing but a joke to him. He never had any intention of helping them. He only wanted to see her squirm, and he had his fun at her expense.

Her lip began to twitch in irritation. "You're pathetic, Reaver." She growled. "Truly an empty, miserable hole of a man. Leave me out of your games the next time you decide to play." With that, she released him, staring viciously up at him for a moment before backing away.

She turned to leave when she felt a pair of cold, strong fingers slip around her throat to the back of her neck. Before she could register what was happening, Reaver stepped away from the wall and grasped her neck, easily spinning her and slamming her against the wall in turn. She clawed at his hand as he tightened his grip on her windpipe, leaving small red welts across his knuckles. He narrowed his eyes on her, a sinister smile spreading across his lips.

"If you like it rough, my love, all you needed to do was say so." He dodged a kick from her boot, stepping closer to trap her feet and pressing his pelvis against her stomach. "However, as endearing as your little _hissy fits_ are, I do insist on being dominant, so if you'll keep that in mind, I'm sure we'll have a marvelous time."

She struggled harder against him, trying to worm her way out of his iron grasp to no avail. Her blood was on fire, and given the chance, she knew she'd crush the life from his skull with her bare hands. He seemed to know this, though he remained completely undisturbed, even amused by it. She dug her nails harder into the soft skin of his arm, but stopped when she saw him shiver in pleasure. "You're… a sick… fucking… freak… Reaver…" She gasped between inhales.

He only expanded his smile, with an unnatural sheen glazing over his eyes. "It just so happens that despite your poor manners, I find you intriguing, and I'm willing to play along with your little revolution. I'll even allow you to make your silly laws that regulate my businesses and keep your futile promises to your allies."

His grip tightened again, and her face began turning red as she struggled harder to breathe. He held her like that for a moment longer, asserting his dominance over the situation before releasing his hand and dropping her onto the floor.

Morgana clawed at the marble, coughing profusely and gasping for air. After several minutes, she caught her breath and began rubbing at her tender, bruising throat. She took several deep breaths and swallowed hard. The bastard nearly killed her, yet he stood over her, smiling pleasantly as if nothing had happened. She stared daggers at a completely unperturbed Reaver through her obsidian hair that fell disheveled over her face.

None the less, she swallowed her anger, forcing it down into the pit of her stomach. "So, you'll help us?" Her voice was hoarse, cracking after a few words.

Reaver extended his hand to her to help her off the floor. "Indeed, I shall."

She shoved his hand away, pushing herself to her feet. She stumbled slightly, feeling light headed. "What do you want, then."

"So many things, princess. But on the manner between us, I've yet to decide. It's always so helpful to have royalty owe you a favor." He raised his eyebrows in contemplation. "Besides, call me curious, as I'd like to see how this whole sibling rivalry plays out."

"To hell with that. That's too open ended." She coughed up again. "You could easily abuse that. I need something more solid."

He pursed his lips, deep in thought. "What if I draw up a contract stating the exact extent of my end the deal? I will acquiesce my business to your scrutiny, vow to never interfere with your allies or their dealings, and pledge my loyalty, my allegiance, and my assistance to the rightful queen and honor her regime's wishes?" He cocked his head, looking to her for approval.

She sat on the thought for several moments, trying to find loopholes or any way he could twist this deal. Though she couldn't call herself satisfied, she knew it was the best she could get from the snake of a man. She was surprised she had gotten him to agree to this much without a fuss.

"Very well then. But you shall ask nothing of me that breaks my laws of that of my predecessors. You shall not ask me to compromise my situation or that of my people. And you will not ask me to betray those closest to me, even after the original dealings are through. Is that understood?"

He placed his hand over his heart, bowing deeply before her. "Of course, _your majesty._ " He stood again, reaching his hand out to hers once more in a shake to cement their bargain. Apprehensively, she took his hand, lacing her fingers around his. "Splendid, absolutely splendid. I'm so happy we could come to an amicable solution! I'll have a contract drawn up and delivered to… Say, where shall I have it delivered to?"

She glared at him with hateful eyes. "Nice try. I'll meet you at an unbiased notary. I don't need you adding to it after I've signed."

"So distrustful, your majesty. This is simply no way to start off a marvelous friendship." He tutted her.

"We are not friends, Reaver. At best, we are business partners." She glowered, making a point to draw attention to her neck.

"Oh, if you say so. I prefer to look on the positive side." He waved his hand whimsically in the air. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Besides, I have a feeling that we'll be spending an awful lot of time together in the coming months."

"Let's hope not."

"Don't be so dour, love. After all, it's only fair that I make sure my investments are well placed. There's a notary located in Bower Square, just off the town center. Shall we agree to meet there tomorrow and make things official?" He offered a charming smile.

"Yes. That will work."

"Splendid, absolutely marvelous. It's a date." He exclaimed.

She eyed him at the use of the word date. "Yes, splendid. I sure look forward to seeing you yet again in a twenty-four-hour period." He ignored her snide remark.

"Would you like an escort back to whatever hovel it is that you rebels rest in? Or perhaps you'd like to stay? It is quite late, and certainly not safe for a future queen to be out and about. I've plenty of room in my personal bed chambers, should you so wish it." He fingered the side of her sleeve suggestively.

Disgusted, she picked his hand up by the sleeve as if it was a piece of garbage and dropped it harshly to his side. "Thanks, but I'd rather sleep in a gutter."

"If you say so, love. My doors are always open." He bowed deeply to her one last time. "Good night… Your majesty."

She turned on her heel, marching towards the door. She got one hand on the doorknob, before she stopped for a moment. She spun around again, stomping towards the desk, snatching the scotch bottle. She waved it in the air towards Reaver.

"I'm taking this. It's coming with me. You're not getting it back." She stomped towards the exit, not waiting to hear his response before she slammed the door behind her.

The shadows beneath his eyes darkened as an ominous smirk worked across his features. "If it pleases her majesty."


	3. The Incubus

**AN: Yeah, so this might get dark. If you're not into the whole 'harassment' deal, might be a good idea to skip on this story, honestly. Reaver is a pretty big twat in this one, and he's gunna get pretty creepy. I don't condone the actions of my characters, but writing... uncomfortable or sexual scenes is something I'm not good with and need to learn to expand, so here we are.**

 **THIS CHAPTER IS NSFW. Like way NSFW. It's not Reaver and Princess, but it's Reaver and someone cause we all know the man doesn't know the meaning of the word monogamy.**

A Faustian Bargain

Chapter 3: The Incubus

"This is, without a doubt, unequivocally, the most unprecedented, unparalleled and unmatched worst day of my life." Professional soldier and smartass Ben Finn sat at the table with his face buried in his hands, surrounded by the rest of the rebellion leaders, all who felt similarly morose. "We lost Major Swift, and we gained Reaver. This must be the most unfair trade in bargaining history. I want a do over."

No one in the group would say they were having a good day, most especially not the princess, who sat slouched over the table, feeling particularly hungover and irate. Page, Benn and Walter weren't feeling much better, having stayed up more than half the night patrolling the dank sewers and waiting for Morgana to return from Reaver's manor. They were greeted by a very drunk and acrimonious princess, only to worsen her already tempestuous temperament upon delivering the news of Major Swift's execution at Logan's hands earlier that morning. Even Walter seemed notably moody today, and had been rambling on about 'slicing that prick from neck to navel' for hours.

"I didn't even know you knew half those words, Benn." Morgana commented. He shot her a dirty look from across the table.

"It's not often I agree with Ben, but this time, I'd say he's fairly correct." Page had her head resting in her palms, a rare sign of defeat. She had come to terms with the situation, but that didn't mean she had to like it. She would admit, the revolution wasn't exactly going full steam ahead, and had been grounded in steady loss the last few months. It didn't help that most of the citizens believed it to be dead, which led to a sharp decline in support and defectors

They needed weapons and armor. They needed men. They needed a strong political backing. Technically, they needed Reaver. She understood this as much as she resented it. It made her sick to know that the revolution rested in the hands of the man that was a part of the reason it had started in the first place.

"That lanky bastard, I'll cut him in two." Walter growled, placing a small sack of ice cubes softly on the princess' throat, which had developed into a rather nasty hue of deep blue and indigo bruising. "Who the hell does he think he is, anyway? We shouldn't be making a deal with him, we should be striking him down!"

"We tried, Walter. Avo knows I tried and failed. That's how I ended up in this situation anyhow." She gestured halfassedly to her neck with her free hand, the other shielding her aching eyes from the light of the room. "Besides, this is the only option. With his help, we might just pull this off. If the price for that is a tidbit of bruising, so be it."

"Tidbit' of bruising? Bollocks!" Walter clenched his fist, menacingly hovering it in the air at no one in particular. "I've seen you hit square up with the hilt of a sword as hard as a grown man could muster and it barely left a mark! You're a Hero for balls sake! Heroes don't just bruise! This isn't a 'tidbit', this is… This is…." His body shook, and his face grew red with rage.

"Calm yourself, Walter. He isn't here right now; your rage is wasted. Save it for when we string him up by his underwear." Benn placed a comforting hand on Walter's enormous shoulder. "But that's a good point there, princess. I've seen some hardened soldiers with battle wounds that look like playtime compared to that. You might want to let me have a look at that, make sure everything is on the up and up." He moved from his chair, taking the ice pack from Walter who was too busy fuming to play medic, and placed it near her collar bone.

"You've yet to explain how you came by those marks." Page looked at the princess with keen curiosity. "I have no doubt Reaver was involved, but how did it happen?"

Morgana rolled her eyes behind closed eyelids, irritated with the entire state of affairs. "He angered me, I attacked him, he won."

"You've got to elaborate. How did he anger you, how did you attack him, and better yet, how on Earth did he best you in hand to hand combat?" Page leaned in, obviously expecting answers. Benn tried to pretend he wasn't listening, but out of the corner of his eyes, his pupils watched the princess intently.

Morgana sighed again, not wishing to relive the embarrassing events of the previous night. "He… Insulted me. I threw him against a wall and tried to intimidate him. It didn't work, to say the least. He returned the favor, and it did work. Elaborated enough for you?"

"So, what you're telling me is that you were foolish enough to buy into Reaver's prodding, knowing full well he was goading you." Page crossed her arms disbelievingly.

"It wasn't like that. He's absolutely infuriating, and he has no sense of boundaries. Absolutely _no_ boundaries at _all._ He's handsy, and menacing and sexually aggressive, and it finally just got to me." She didn't open her eyes to see the various looks of disgust on her friend's faces. She didn't need to.

Page looked at her sympathetically, feeling sorry for pushing the subject as she backed off it. Benn looked as if he might vomit, his eyes wandering from the bruises on her neck to her shoulders, wondering if the cacophony of colors that was splotched on her neck was the result of some sort of fetish Reaver had. The thought caused his stomach to lurch. Walter hit a whole new level of anger, digging his nails into his palms to keep from exploding.

Morgana spoke again, sensing the tension. "…And frankly he wears too much white and it's tacky." She exhaled, wishing the world would melt away. Her head was pounding, her throat was dry, and she was running on maybe three or four hours of sleep. It might have been more, if she hadn't gotten lost while drunkenly and angrily stumbling her way back to Bowerstone's industrial district.

"He does wear far too much white." Benn whispered, nodding his head in agreement.

"Regardless, I don't like this." Page shook the images from her mind, bringing it back to the matter at hand. "I don't trust him after all he's done. How do we know he hasn't gone to Logan already and ratted us out, and this is some sort of elaborate trap?"

"We don't. But if he was going to ruin us, he would have done it regardless of the deal or not." Morgana moved her head to rest on the table, setting her forehead on the cool, slightly damp wood. "At least this way, we have some sort of chance. And let's assume he doesn't double cross us, maybe we c-"

"Sweet, merciful Merriweather, these bruises go all the way 'round!" Benn pushed Morgana's long hair off the back of her neck, revealing the entire backside to be equally as vivid and tender as the front. "What did he do, choke you with some sort of giant necklace?"

"Nope, just his hand." She shrugged, looking over at Benn. "Are you really still going on about the bruising?"

"His _hand_? As in singular?" Ben looked utterly horrified, and eyed her neck with a barely concealed sense of fear. "Is he really that… large?"

"Benn!" Page hissed, attempting to shush him, sensing Morgana's unease.

Benn twitched uncomfortably in his seat, oblivious to Page's warning. "I've heard stories, but I've never seen him in person. You're the only one I know who has really been up close and personal with him." Everyone shot him a distasteful look for his wording. "Oh, right. Sorry." He smiled sheepishly.

The princess sighed, massaging her temples. "He's bloody massive. Taller than I am, definitely wider, and as impossible as it may seem, stronger." She began rubbing her hand along her collarbone, massaging the blood back into her neck.

"I always pictured a posh little businessman who was rich enough to have other people do his dirty work. I never thought he'd even be a threat without that fancy gun of his, let alone an actual danger." Benn paused, reflecting on the new knowledge. "Well, I suppose this changes things a little." He went back to softly patting the bruising with the ice, mentally measuring the handprint embedded on her neck to his own hand with a look of insecurity.

"It changes nothing." Page placed her fist on the table with a renewed sense of determination. "We'll go along with Reaver and his 'deal', but if he shows even the slightest sign of betrayal, we go our own way. And I will be accompanying the princess to the signing to make sure he doesn't try anything."

"I might as well go too. After all, if he can best the princess, you need all the help you can get if Reaver decides to act up, and there's no better help than me." Benn placed his fists on his hips in a heroic pose and gave a sideways look towards Page, hoping for some sort of swooning reaction. He was disappointed.

"I'm going as well! If he so much as speaks out of turn, I'll run him through!" Walter banged his fist on the table, his face still a very vicious shade of purple.

"Um, Walter, mate, I don't think that's such a good idea. I've seen murder in your eyes before, and it just never really ends well, you know? We're going to a treaty signing, not a pub brawl, and honestly, I'd like to be able to collect my pension before I die, not end up in a jail cell for a street brawl at a public notary." Benn tapped Walter on the back in a poor attempt to calm him, only to have his hand slapped away by the surly man.

"Fine then! But I am going and I'm waiting outside, and if I so much as hear a gunshot from the other side of town, I'm coming in slashing." Walter folded his hands over his chest, huffing. "I'll take his arms off before he can lay another hand on the princess, that pompous, frilly prat."

"Then it's decided." Page stood up from the table. "We all know our positions." She turned her head to the princess. "This is your lead. You're the one who took the initiative to recruit Reaver, and it couldn't have been done without you. Ultimately, you're the only one who has truly met him, so you have final say. This could make or break our cause. So, we need to know now…" Page paused a moment to make her point before continuing. "Do you trust him?"

Morgana scoffed. "Trust him? Absolutely not. Do I think he'll betray us? No."

Page pursed her lips, mentally preparing for the leap of faith. "I suppose that's as good as we're going to get, and that will have to do. I still don't like this, but if you truly think he can breathe life into this again, we don't have much to lose. Just be on your guard."

"Believe me, I am. He is the last person I want to see right now. Let's sign the peace agreement and be done with it. He has incentive to be loyal to us, and hopefully that'll be enough to keep him satisfied."

Page nodded in agreement, pushing herself up from her seat. "We should leave now and get there early, scope out the business to make sure there's not some sort of trap. I wouldn't put anything past Reaver."

Morgana blew out a puff of air from her lungs, forcing her legs to maneuver their way out from under the chair. Benn and Walter followed shortly, each one sporting a unique frown on their faces. They all looked at each other in relative degrees of acceptance. Benn looked uncomfortable, but willing to sacrifice for the cause, while Walter just looked livid, like for the first time in his years he'd rather be on a battle field than signing an agreement.

Page was already through the door when Walter gruffly began stalking towards the exit, hand on his sword like he was ready to cut the next person who so much as looked at him wrong. Benn instead chose to walk alongside Morgana, who was self-consciously fingering at her bruises.

"I'll admit, he did quite a number on you. I guess it only makes him all the creepier, eh?" Benn tried his best at being comforting, but unfortunately, it was not one of his talents. "Good thing you lot have me around to give him the ol' one two one two and show him what's right!"

"It only makes him more pathetic." A sneer grew on her lips for a small moment. "But yes Benn, I'm sure you are a mighty warrior. One look at you and he's going to hand over his fortunes and turn himself in to the law." She mused, jokingly punching his arm.

"You're damn right. He should be terrified of me. I'm the only one in Albion who threatens his record of 'best hair'. Well, besides you, princess." He picked up a few strands of her hair and began waving it around. She laughed for the first time in hours, playfully pushing his hand away.

"On a more serious note, would you like to borrow my scarf? Just while we're in town with him? I don't want to give him any more reason to antagonize you than he has seemingly taken a liking to. Though if he does, you know I'll kill him."

Morgana thought momentarily, lightly fingering at the bruises which left behind a dull ache when she pressed on them. "No, let him see what he's done if he's so proud of it. I'll not hide it in shame."

"Brave of you, princess, a true warrior spirit. I'm proud." He clapped his hand on her shoulder.

"You really do like touching people's shoulders, don't you? I've seen you do it three times in the last hour." She chortled.

"You see, it all started when I was a wee lad and me dad never touched me shoulder. Ever since then I've been trying to fill the void he left behind in me." Benn feigned sorrow, placing his hand over his heart and hanging his head.

"Benn, you are utterly ridiculous."

"Yeah, I know. It's why Page is in love with me."

The pair headed after Walter and Page, prodding at each other like siblings. They were both doing their best to forget about the fact that only miles away, Reaver was preparing to meet them as well.

Back at his manor, Reaver scanned his appearance. He knew he always looked immaculate, but he took special care today. He had the maids iron his shirt twice, and had his coat fur specially fluffed. Currently, he stood with his arms out in from of a triple mirror in his private chambers, allowing a young servant woman to adjust his cravat.

"Take extra precaution today. I don't want it coming loose or looking anything short of impeccable." Reaver maneuvered his face around, inspecting all angles of himself in the mirror. His hair, as always, was perfectly coiffed, with a brand-new hat waiting on the nearby dresser. All clothing was wrinkle free and pressed, with all metal accessories clean and gleaming. Lastly, his boots had been polished and oiled to a glimmering, inky black. There was no point of inspecting his face any further, as he knew it never fell beyond absolute perfection.

"Yes sir, Master Reaver." The girl continued to tie and inspect the silken black fabric.

"Good girl." He patronized her. Deciding he liked the curves of her face, he watched her work, examining her fingers weave in and out of the bow. He was distracted briefly by her ample chest peeking through the corset of her dress before a deep knock could be heard on the door. A servant entered, bowing deeply to Reaver before speaking.

"Master Reaver, your coach is prepared and awaits you whenever you wish to depart."

"Excellent. Tell them I'll only be a few moments. Be a good man and close the door on your way out." He shooed the boy away, his eyes wandering back towards the thin hands around his neckwear and the body they belonged to. The boy simply nodded, leaving quietly and closing the door behind him. The maid's eyes widened in fear at the thought of being with him alone, knowing his violent reputation and fearing she had done something wrong. She tried to hide her nervousness, but her fingers began to shake slightly as she worked.

A few ties later, and she smoothed out the material, taking a few steps away from Reaver to inspect her work for any faults. He looked at his reflection, nodding and seemingly satisfied.

"Be a dear and grab my cane for me, won't you, my sweet?" He finally turned from the large mirror and settled himself in a nearby chair, watching the servant girl as she bent down to retrieve his walking stick from where it leaned against a dresser. Anxiously, she walked back to him, handing it toward him with trembling arms. He grabbed her hands, gripping them tightly around the cold metal of his cane.

"You're shaking like a leaf." His dark eyes studied her face.

"I-I'm sorry Master Reaver, I didn't mean-" Her lip quivered.

"Have I not been a generous master to you?" Reaver's voice was gentle and alluring.

"Of course." She nodded.

"Then why do you tremble so when I'm near?" He moved to place his hand underneath her chin, stroking it in an assuring manner. Her face flushed and she turned away, trying to hide her sudden change in complexion.

"Is it fear?" He cocked his head, delicately pushing her hair behind her ear, revealing her blushing face to him once more. "Or could it perhaps be… something else."

He grabbed her waist with both hands, pulling her suddenly into his lap. His cane clattered to the floor and she gasped, shocked as she felt him reposition her legs underneath her dress so that she was straddling his own.

"Master Reaver!" She exclaimed, her eyes broadening. A sharp tingle electrified her limbs running downward to between her legs.

"Could it perhaps be something more along the lines of lust that makes your knees quake when I'm nearby?" He purred into her ear, running his hand along her leg towards the soft inside of her quavering thigh. "Is that it?"

"M-master Reaver." She moaned, closing her eyes and biting her lip, trying her hardest to hide her arousal. "I'm married."

"And I'm rich." He nibbled on her neck, moving his other hand underneath her skirts to unbutton his trousers, freeing himself from the confines of his pants. "That's my contribution to the conversation if we're talking about things that don't matter."

He began to grind himself against her, eliciting a small moan from the girl. She began clawing his shoulders in pleasure, pushing her hips against his pelvis as his manhood brushed against her. Her eyes glazed over and he felt her body go limp in his arms. He grinned, reaching up and tearing at the small knot of lace that kept her breasts restrained against the fabric of her dress.

He peeled the garment down over her arms and down to her waist, leaving her upper torso naked as she pushed herself against him. Licking down her neck, he shifted his head to her chest, pushing her backwards slightly and taking her small pink nipple into his mouth. A small whimper forced its way from her as he sucked and teased her with his tongue. He allowed his hand to wander towards her other breast, squeezing and manipulating it in his palm, as the other snaked underneath her skirts once more, moving her panties to the side and slowly stroking his finger along her crevice, feeling her dampness.

"Already so wet for me. Are you always this easy, my dear? Your poor husband." Continuing to kiss her chest as he spoke, he felt her body burn in embarrassment and shame. He could tell she was about to speak, so he bit down hard on her other nipple before she could respond. She squealed loudly, digging her nails into his coat and grinding herself against his hand that still rested inside her undergarments.

He obliged her, working his fingers slowly inside her folds. He allowed his manipulation of her sensitive nub to eventually become harder and faster, forcing her to wait before he relented and moved his finger to enter her. Inserting a single digit inside, he slowly began moving in and out of her, feeling her legs weaken against him as he deepened his ministrations. After a few moments, he removed it, bringing it to his mouth and sucking her juices from it.

"Master Reaver…" She looked hazily up at him through heavily hooded eyes, sliding herself against his length.

He looked down at her, the smile faded from his face, and he forced her legs open further, placing himself near her entrance. "Beg for it." He snarled.

"Please…" She signed breathlessly. Short on time and satisfied enough with her mewling, Reaver forced himself inside her harshly, placing his hands on her waist and pulling her body down harder onto himself. She threw her head back with a guttural groan, already breathing heavily. He began working himself in and out of her rhythmically, biting down on her shoulder as he raked his nails along her back, making sure her husband knew he had been there.

She circled her hips to meet his thrusts, taking him as deeply as she could. Removing her hands from his shoulders, she clamped on to the back of the chair, using it for leverage. She was warm and welcoming, but he loved that she was so eager to please him, so he pushed her boundaries yet again.

"Are you going to go home to your husband and let him see what I've done to you?" He groped at her bouncing breast again, tweaking her nipple hard between his finger. "Will you suck his cock while thinking of mine?"

"Yes, Master Reaver!" She moaned, working her hips harder against his. He could tell she was already getting close. She became putty in his hands, and her chest began heaving with increasing intensity, and he could feel her walls begin to close in on him. He could say anything to her now and she'd still come for him.

He brought his hand up her back, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking it backwards. "He'll kiss you in the morning and taste me on your lips, and you'll never be able to fuck him again without knowing I was better."

Her mouth opened in surprise, but he slammed into her harder, taking the words from her mouth. Following suit, she rode him with equal intensity, wrapping her legs around him for balance. Her breathy whimpers became more and more frequent as she neared her finish. Seconds later, she clenched her eyes and contracted around him, moaning her climax into his ear. Reaver allowed himself to empty inside of her after a few thrusts into her increased tightness.

She collapsed on his chest, trying to catch her breath and steady her weak, shaking legs. Reaver raised an eyebrow at her, wondering if he was going to have to push her off himself. She seemed to notice this, and quickly backed off him, removing him from herself in the process. It seemed the gravity of what she'd done suddenly came crashing down onto her as quickly covered herself with one arm, using the other to wipe both of their mess from between her legs, looking as if she was going to cry.

Reaver simply stood with a deep, satisfied sigh. He tucked himself back into his pants before retrieving his cane from the floor and grabbing his top hat. Taking one final look in the mirror, he decided he was still satisfied with his appearance, and he turned and strutted for the door, leaving the naked, dirtied young maid behind him wordlessly.

' _How terribly boring. She was halfway there before I even made it inside her. It's simply too easy to be fun anymore.'_ He thought to himself as he sauntered down the hall.

Making people want him and give themselves over to him despite themselves was one of his greatest joys and favorite hobbies. They knew who he was, and they knew how he was, but they all found themselves in his grasp regardless, throwing away everything in the process. It was a sense of power that topped even the thrill of killing for him. Ruining a marriage before noon was all good fun, but it had hardly taken any skill at all to get her panting and sweating on top of him, which bored him.

Reaching the exit to his mansion, Reaver turned to his doorman, placing the top hat on his head as he spoke. "I don't know when I'll return, but have the dressing room fully cleaned before I do, including furniture."

The doorman nodded wordlessly, bowing slightly to him.

"Oh, and send my thanks to maid's husband." Reaver began his descent down the stairs toward his stage coach.

"Which maid, Master Reaver?" The doorman looked slightly confused.

"The naked one."


	4. The Devil's in the Details

**AN: I should probably start paying attention when I edit and proofread these. I upload them at like 7 am, and I guess there's a few things that tend to slip past my notice. I will, at some point in the future, likely go through and revise some chapters, because… well, think of it this way. Right now, the story is kind of like putty. It hasn't really solidified yet. The only two inevitable truths of this story are that Reaver is a bigger prick than usual, and the princess will take the throne. I know it seems like there's kind of a lot of… unnecessary sexuality going on, but that's going to be kind of a constant here. Violence and licentiousness are Reaver's big two in this one, and they go hand in hand.**

A Faustian Bargain

Chapter IV: The Devil's in the Details

Bower Market was a generally populated and lively place, and today was no exception. After the foggy vale of pollution that clouded over Bowerstone's industrial district lifted, it was quite a charming place. Small shops and booths lined the streets while the owners advertised their wares with friendly but persistent speeches. The colorful citizens happily perused from shop to shop, inspecting the items and occasionally purchasing.

Needless to say, the four revolutionaries stuck out like sore thumbs. Dour in both clothing and apparel, they b-lined towards Bower Legal Services, ignoring the various temptations of the square. Page walked abrasively ahead of the rest of the group, second only to Walter. Both of them scanned nearby rooftops and villagers for suspicious activity, extra vigilant on account of the circumstances.

The princess and Ben stayed back, however, walking several feet from their partners. Morgana's feet dragged on the cobblestone, having to muster the strength to move with every step. She cursed the sun, grumbling under her breath about the 'blasted fireball in the sky.' Ben stayed behind for the sheer entertainment of Morgana's angry ramblings, occasionally chuckling at her offhanded vocabulary.

"I've never known a princess with such a colorful mouth." He snickered.

"Keep prodding me, and you'll have never known a soldier with such a colorful face." She gave him a nasty side eye.

"Testy, testy." He jabbed her playfully in the ribs, eliciting a protesting groan from her.

"Ben, surely you've been hungover before? Why do you insist on being yourself today of all days?" She sighed. "Can't you be a good friend and carry me or something?"

"Now, now, princess. What would the people think if their princess couldn't even stand on her own two feet? Besides, we're not far now anyway." He squinted his eyes ahead in search of their destination.

"I don't even want to do this today. Or ever. I should have just shot him." She mumbled under her breath with a childlike irritation.

"Well you only have yourself to blame for that one. For your hangover and the fact that he's still breathing." He chuckled.

The princess huffed, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "I'd like to see _you_ have to be around Reaver for a night and not drink yourself into a stupor."

"Oh no, I'd be absolutely barreled by the time I left. I don't know much about the man, but I know he's insufferable." Ben gave a shiver. "How'd you get that liquor anyhow? Expensive stuff that you just chugged like it was a common ale."

"Reaver sort of… gave it to me, in a manner of speaking." She raised her hand to the back of her head sheepishly.

"You stole it didn't you?" He gave her a stern, knowing look.

"Yeah, yeah I stole it." Nodding, she looked down at the floor in faux shame.

"Least you could have done is shared." He chided her.

"If it makes you feel any better, it was disgusting." She shrugged, gagging after remembering the taste.

"All good liquors are, my friend."

The pair continued along, walking in silence behind their companions. After several moments, it was Page who spoke up.

"We're here." She motioned upward towards the sign above the doorway of the innocuous shop. "I didn't see anything that I would deem suspicious." She looked over at Walter, who nodded in agreement. "Ben, the princess, and I will go inside. Walter, if you see or hear anything suspicious, don't hesitate."

Walter nodded again, this time with more vigilance before he placed his hand on his sword in a guarding stance just outside the door.

"Are you ready for this, Morgana?" Page placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We can still leave now and pretend the whole thing never happened."

"No. That bastard is going to hold up his end of the deal, whether he likes it or not." Morgana stood firm with resolve. Page acknowledged her, tightening her hand on the princess' shoulder in a reassuring way before reaching for the knob and holding the door open so that she and Ben could enter. With one last look to Walter, Page entered the building herself, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

The interior was simple and unassuming, with a few scattered chairs and end tables here and there near the beige colored walls. The only other person inside was a thin, elderly man with long, stringy hair falling from his scalp, who was currently writing at a painted gray desk on the far side of the room.

Page walked up towards the desk, clearing her throat. "We're here for the signing."

The man continued writing, not bothering to look up and see who was speaking. "Is the other party here?"

"Believe me, you'd likely know if he was." Ben scoffed, receiving another dirty look from Page.

"Then take a seat, please. No one is allowed near the document until both parties have arrived and are witness." He shooed them away.

"We are on time, are we not?" Page's voice spiked in irritation, disliking being in so public an area for so long and disliking the clerk's poor attitude even more.

"We are not responsible for the punctuality of the latter party." He exhaled sharply, obviously becoming annoyed. Page thought to argue momentarily, but noticed that the princess and Ben had already flopped down into seats, with Morgana's head resting firmly in her own lap as a makeshift pillow, and Ben picking aimlessly at his nails. Instead, she shook her head and took a seat next to Morgana, staring at the cracking paint on the wall.

"I should have known he'd keep us waiting." Page tapped her finger impatiently on a nearby wooden stand.

"Nobody jinx it. Maybe if he stays away for long enough, I can fit a nap in." Morgana remarked sleepily, closing her eyes against her knees.

"How can you sleep at a time like this, especially after last night?" Page furrowed her brows in deep frustration.

"Sleep takes precedence over most things for me, and I don't get to do it often enough. I'd like to relax for five bloody minutes before having to face reality again." Morgana waved her away, pushing her face into her legs.

"She's got the right idea, you know." Ben remarked.

"I'll never understand you two." Page rolled her eyes before reaching for her gun, moving to clean it with the fabric from her skirt.

Seconds turned to minutes as the trio waited for Reaver to arrive. Both Page and Ben noticed that at some point, Morgana had managed to nod off into slumber, snoring lightly with her mouth slightly slack against her leg.

"She really was tired, wasn't she?" Page patted her back, feeling a little remorseful she had pushed her so hard.

"Can you blame her? She spent half the night with Reaver, and the rest of it absolutely pissed off her rocker. Wouldn't you be?" Ben shrugged again.

"I guess at the end of the day, if all goes well with this deal, she'll sacrifice more than any of us." Page brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "The deal states he can't interfere with us in any way. It's her who will have to deal with him and… Whatever it is he wants."

"What do you think he wants?" Ben looked to Page, worry lines creasing the underside of his eyes.

"I don't know… But I know it won't be good." Page looked down toward her lap, shaking her head vigorously. "We should let her do this, Ben. We should wake her and leave." Page moved to stand from her seat.

"We can't Page, and you know it!" Ben hissed. "After everything she endured last night, she won't let you. Not to mention, you want to really anger a business man? Enter an agreement with him and then try to back out. He'll shoot us between the eyes before we can so much as show our faces in public again." He bit his lip, closing his eyes in acceptance. "Look, I don't like this any more than you do. But we must trust her judgement. If he steps so much as a toe out of line, then we can do what our guts are screaming at us to do. But until then, he has her, and by extension, us, backed into a corner."

"I know, I just hate this." Page's head fell into her hands. Ben slowly rose from his seat, carefully stepping around Morgana so as not to wake her. He took the seat closest to Page, and placed his hand comfortingly around her shoulders.

"I do too. The man is a monster. I don't like the thought of dealing with him, and I like the thought of her dealing with him even less." He sighed. "But she's the future queen of Albion. She can handle more than we give her credit for. Let's just pretend that the second that crown touches her head, she'll have him carted off and executed as her first official decree."

"She'll never do it. She's far too noble for that." Page looked over at Ben. "But it's a nice thought, isn't it?"

"The best." He rubbed her shoulder gently. The pair sat in silence for a few more moments before Ben spoke up again. "You know, this is the longest you've let me keep my arm around your shoulders without pushing me off."

Page turned red, moving quickly from his grasp. "Bugger off, Ben."

"Still happened. You can't erase the memory." He smiled at her, and she smiled back in turn.

More time passed, and another half an hour flew by in relative silence. The only noises to be heard were Morgana's light and occasional snores, and a cough from the man at the head of the room. Page was becoming exceptionally irritated, no longer tapping her fingers but instead scraping them across the wood of the chair.

"This is becoming ridiculous!" She exclaimed, shaking Ben out of a daydreaming stupor. "Is he coming or not?" She huffed, angrily tapping her foot.

"Yeah, it is getting a little late. The sun is starting to descend." Ben glanced out the window and then back to Morgana. "At least one of us is having fun."

Morgana still sat peacefully sleeping away in her own lap, with her hands hanging limply down to her feet.

"I feel like that cannot be comfortable." Page mimicked the position to various degrees, shaking her head after concluding that it indeed was not.

"You think that's bad, think of poor Walter. He's been standing out there for quite some time now, and all that rage he's carrying today can be pretty heavy." Ben jested.

"That's a good point. We'd better check on Walter." Both Page and Ben rose from their seats and walked toward the door, ready to peak their head out. However, the doorway flew open just as Ben touched the knob, sending his hand flying back towards the wall.

"So terribly sorry I'm late, I got caught up at home, you see." Reaver's singsong voice projected into the room. His big, black boots slowly stepped inside, cane following shortly after. He peered down at Ben who clutched his hand in pain. "So terribly sorry. Was that me?"

"Don't worry about it." Ben sneered, doing his best to not seem intimidated by the sheer height of the man next to him.

"Page! My dear! You look… Well, it's a pleasure to see you anyhow." Reaver bowed slightly to Page, who only rolled her eyes and turned away from him.

"And where is our ravishing princess?" Scanning the room, his eyes eventually fell on Morgana's huddled over form. He put his hand to his mouth and softened his features. "Now that truly is precious. I so hate to rouse her." He stepped to her, reaching out a gloved, white hand towards her back.

"Why don't you just keep your hands to yourself there, mate." Ben quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his arm from reaching the princess. His hands rested on the guns on either side of his hips, ready to fire if necessary. Reaver glared down at him, flickers of anger concealed behind his pleasant tone.

"My my. So defensive of the young princess. It's almost as if you think I mean her harm." Reaver's eyes flashed dangerously, but Ben remained unmoved. "You should never move for your guns unless you have intent to fire them, dear boy."

"Who says I don't?" Ben growled, motioning with his head for Page to wake the slumbering monarch. Page nodded, quickly leaning down beside her and delicately shaking her, while the two men stared each other down by her side.

"Morgana…" Page whispered softly. The princess only moved her head towards the opposite wall, reluctant to get up. "Princess, he's here. Let's get this over with, and then you can sleep all you'd like for a while."

Morgana grunted angrily, pulling her head from her lap and adjusting her eyes to the light, eventually finding them on the ongoing power struggle between Reaver and Ben.

"Reaver. So nice of you to join us _today."_ Her tone was pleasant enough, but the animosity was clear in her intention.

"My dear, sweet princess. You look absolutely stunning, I must say. I had not anticipated that, seeing as you made off with a bottle of my extraordinarily strong whiskey last night. Where is it, I might ask?" He cocked an eyebrow at her, already knowing the answer.

"Gone." She stated matter-of-factly.

"Well, I must say you _are_ a trooper. I dare say that bottle could lay low a man half your size." His eyes flickered back to Ben once more. "You look marvelous for someone who must be so utterly exhausted."

"Which is why I'd like to get this over with as soon as possible. I'm sure you understand." Morgana pulled herself up from the chair, walking over towards the doorway behind the desked man. He was already standing at attention, hand preemptively on the doorknob and eyes alert on Reaver.

"I couldn't have said it better." Reaver sidestepped Ben, trailing shortly after Morgana. Ben took his hands off his pistols and turned tail to follow, as did Page.

The princess entered the room first, followed by Reaver.

"Mister Reaver! So gracious of you to come to us!" The lanky man bowed deeply to the industrial tycoon, his stringy hair flopping loosely in front of him as he did so.

"I thought we agreed on an _unbiased_ notary." Morgana eyed him suspiciously.

"I don't know the man. It appears he simply knows me, but who doesn't." Reaver shrugged, brushing off her accusations. Page and Ben tried to move through the doorframe, but the aged clerk let go of the door in their faces, almost hitting Page square in the nose if it hadn't been for Ben reaching his arm forward to keep it open for her. She acknowledged him, and gave a dirty glare towards the notary.

As they all settled in the room, Reaver moved to pull out Morgana's chair for her smirking as he bowed his head before her.

"Drop the act, Reaver." The princess rolled her eyes.

"You wound me, your grace." He pushed her chair in before settling down in his own on the opposite side of her.

"Let's get this over with." Page folded her arms over her stomach impatiently. "We've been here for hours."

"Very well." Reaver nodded, turning his gaze toward the old timer who almost jumped to life.

"Yes, Mister Reaver, I have it right here! I took special care, engraved it just as you asked! Stayed up all night to perfect it." The man reached underneath his desk, bring out a large, elaborate scroll. He unrolled it on the desk, revealing lines upon lines of arabesque print, accompanied by two large lines on the bottom where they no doubt were meant to sign.

"How is this a contract? We can't even read the bloody thing!" Ben leaned down, squinting at the lettering.

"People who weren't raised in the gutter can, I'm sure." Reaver ridiculed. Ben sneered toward him, but Reaver's focus wasn't on him any longer. Instead, Reaver's eyes rested on Morgana, who scanned the contract over and over.

"Is everything to your liking, your grace?" His voice was smooth as velvet as he slowly manipulated his hand atop his cane, eyes roaming over the princess' face.

"It's as we discussed, if that's what you mean." She ran her eyes over it one last time. "I'm surprised you didn't try to add to it."

"I would never do such a thing! I am nothing if not a man of my word!" Reaver feigned indignance.

Morgana ignored him. "Page, is everything appropriate and binding?"

Page grimaced, looking the contract over, scrutinizing every sentence. "As appropriate as it's going to get. I don't think he'll be able to worm around, if that's what you mean. But everything not within the confines of this contract is free game for him." She gave Morgana an ominous look. "Are you sure about this?"

"Fine, so be it. So long as it doesn't breach the contract." The princess relinquished her hesitation with a sigh, doing her best to block out her doubts.

"So, am I to believe everything is in order?" The notary tapped his fingers together excitedly. His eagerness for the signing made her uneasy.

"Princess?" Reaver turned his head to hers, a foreboding grin slowly sweeping across his face.

"If you are deceiving me somehow…" She warned him with a low growl.

"You'll rend my head from my shoulders, tear me asunder, set fire to my wardrobe, yes, yes, I can fill in the blanks." Reaver sighed.

"Not just her." Ben added, with Page nodding in agreement.

"Very well." Morgana took one final breath before fully accepting her fate. "I'll sign."

"Marvelous!" Reaver clapped his hands together in triumph.

"It is indeed! However, before the signing, I must ask that your… friends leave, my lady." The aging notary gave a distasteful glance toward Ben and Page, both of which shot out of their seats in defense.

"We'll do no such thing!" Page slammed her fists down on the desk, eliciting a dramatic heave from Reaver.

"And why should they?" Morgana eyed the notary with growing suspicion.

"You see, as Mister Reaver brought no witnesses of his own, it simply wouldn't be impartial or fair to allow the other party the privilege. It could cause bias down the road, should problems arise." His eyes momentarily flickered over towards Reaver. "And seeing as a contract only needs one witness, that being myself, I'm afraid I must insist.

"That is absolute bollocks and you know it!" Ben joined Page in a defensive stance, ready to start swinging.

"This is what happens when you bring the rabble into a civil discussion." Reaver crossed his arms, looking disdainfully towards the enraged pair, who in turn looked ready to pounce on him.

Sensing the rising tension, Morgana held up her hand. "It's fine, you guys. Really. It's only for a few moments. Go check on Walter, and I'll meet you outside."

Page and Ben turned to her, startled by her acquiescence.

"But…" Ben began, but Page placed her hand firmly on his arm.

"Let's go, Ben. She'll be fine." She shot one last glare at Reaver before stepping back towards the exit, dragging Ben with her.

"Alright, but I'm warning you, if I hear so much as squeak out of place, I'm coming back in shooting!" He yelled back as Page pushed him through the door, shutting it behind her.

"Excellent! Now, where were we?" The notary rubbed his hands together, displaying an eerie smile that showcased his gray, dilapidated teeth.

"The signing." Reaver noted pointedly, irritation displayed prominently on his face.

"Ah yes, of course." He reached into a drawer, withdrawing two quills and a small font of ink and placing them on the desk in front of them.

A pleasant look returned to Reaver's face as he reached for one of the quills, tapping it softly on the ink bed. "Shall we do this, princess?"

She swallowed her final thoughts, reaching for a quill as well. "Let's get this over with."

Both of them stood from their seats, bending over the desk toward the large scroll. Reaver reached to sign his name first, not stopping to hesitate. His signature was large and extravagant, much like the man himself, and took up almost all of the available line.

"You can't just sign 'Reaver'. You have to sign your name for it to be binding." She chided him.

"Reaver _is_ my name, majesty."

"Your birth name-"

"Matters not. All my legal documents are signed the same. This contract shall be as binding as any of my others"

She looked at him through the side of her eyes, annoyed. He simply stared down at her, a polite smile on his face as he waited. She tapped her own quill in the ink and read through the document one last time, carefully examining every sentence skeptically. Realizing that no matter how many times she reread it, it would never change, she forced her hand down to sign, trying hard not to think about it as she ran the pen over the paper.

Reaver's face darkened as finished, sending a chill down her spine. The notary clapped, obviously pleased. "Just wonderful! Now if you too will shake on it, I will run this to the back room for framing!" He scooped up the scroll from the desk, rolling it carefully into place as he hurried through the door, leaving Reaver and Morgana alone in his office.

Reaver extended his gloved hand toward hers, and she slowly took it in hers and shook with him, keeping her eyes narrowed on his face. There was something perverse about his grin as he bore down on her, but she did her best not to linger on the thought.

Suddenly, he yanked on her hand, pulling her closer towards him. Her body hit his chest with a slight thump. Horrified, she tried to pull her hand away, but he only clutched her tighter.

"I must say, purple certainly is your color." Reaver's eyes slowly drifted downward toward her bruised neck, a licentious sheen glimmering in his eyes.

"Take the time to appreciate it, because it will be the last time you ever lay a hand on me." She snarled.

"Oh, let's not be hasty, princess. You never know, you might grow to enjoy it." He fluttered his lashes at her innocently.

"You're sick, Reaver." She spat at him. "I worry deeply for the mental health of anyone who doesn't absolutely loath your presence, let alone your touch."

"Then you must find yourself rather exhausted. You've no doubt heard of my prowess, after all?" He cocked an eyebrow at her suggestively.

"Oh, indeed I have. It just makes me realize there are more tasteless people in Albion than I realized."

"Not just Albion, dear princess." He chuckled. "So many people can't possibly be wrong. Perhaps you should give it a try, see what all the fuss is about." He leaned closer to her, whispering seductively in her ear. "I'm certain I'll make it worth your while."

Heat emanated from her core as his warm breath graced her ear. She shivered against his chest, though she did her best to lean away. "Maybe if I didn't find you utterly repugnant."

"Your mouth says one thing, but your body certainly says another." He ran his free hand down her arm, softly tracing down to her waist, and then falling lower toward her back side. "The way you quiver when I touch you. The way your heart beats out of your chest when you're near me. Your body responds to me, even if your head doesn't." He brought his hand back up, gently resting it on the ribs beneath her breast. "I dare say you want me almost as badly as I want you."

"Yes, you do dare, and you'd be wrong on both accounts." She tried to pull her hand away from his again, but he only pulled her even closer, their faces nearly touching.

"You can't run forever, _ma cherie._ " His eyes bore down into her.

"Watch me." She spat defiantly.

"I do so love a challenge." He smirked back at her.

The door opened next to them, and a very alarmed notary stepped in. "I'm so terribly sorry! Was I interrupting something? I can leave." He placed his hands up defensively.

"I was just leaving." Morgana elbowed Reaver in the chest with her shoulder, pushing him away from her as he relinquished her hand.

He giggled, rubbing his chest with his hand. "Is everything in order?"

"Yes, Mister Reaver. The contract has been sealed and placed in back, should either of you wish to return to view it." The elderly notary bowed toward them.

"Simply splendid." Reaver whispered to himself, watching as Morgana's angry form as she stormed out of the office.


End file.
